


The Light of Your Halo

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Basically those three recurring themes, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Tony Stark Feels, and it's all fluff from then on, except only the first few chapters are angsty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4734311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony wasn't as surprised as he expected he should have been when he discovered that his soulmate was the very famous, very dead icon of America. It takes a lot of crying, several break-downs and some hella strong drinks but Tony eventually gets over the fact that he won't ever have a soulmate.</p><p>Years later, Captain America is revived from the ice.</p><p>(Title from Beyonce's Halo because if that's not Stony Anthem then I don't even know what is)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Halo by Beyonce because that song is fucking legend and yall should never forget it ^^ Anyway, this is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic in a long time so bare with me. I have no idea if it's gonna be ten chapters or fifty but, whatever. I tend to go with the flow of things - even if it's just because I'm too lazy to plan shit.
> 
> But, yeah. Enjoy!

Tony Stark lay on his bed, staring alternatively at the ceiling and the clock.

Seven minutes left. Seven minutes and then he'll find out the poor soul he was destined to love. Seven minutes and then he'll know which idiot will supposedly turn him into a sap. Seven minutes left.

On everyone's eighteenth birthday, their forearm is decorated with the name of their soulmate, looking not dissimilar to tattoos. The person is destined to love that person forever, which, in Tony's professional opinion, was more of a curse than an actual gift. If their soulmate was to die, they would never move on or love someone quite so passionately.

Six minutes left.

He wondered if his soulmate was one of the Anti-Fate movement, a group of people completely against the idea of having their partner decided for them. What if his soulmate refused to accept 'fate' and so, refused to accept Tony? The Anti-Fate group was growing larger and larger as more and more people wanted the freedom to love whomever they wanted. But it was possible.

Or maybe his soulmate would take one look at him and say, very determinedly, "Nope." He wouldn't be surprised. Even  _he_ wouldn't want to be his own soulmate.

Five minutes left.

What if he didn't have a soulmate? 0.7% of the population didn't. It would be just his luck if he was in that 0.7%. And it made sense. He didn't really deserve a soulmate. And there was no bad deed,  _nothing_ , that would earn someone the punishment of having Tony Stark as a soulmate.

Maybe his soulmate had already died. Maybe his soulmate was a psychopath or a cannibal.

Four minutes left.

Tony had to admit, the idea of a soulmate was tempting. Someone who would always love him, no matter what? It was a concept that seemed too good to be true. No, it  _was_ too good to be true.

Three minutes left.

Tony knew this wasn't going to happen easily. Nothing in Tony's seventeen - practically eighteen - years of existence had happened easily and according to plan. Hell, even his birth had gone wrong and his mother had needed a C-Section.

Two minute left.

He knew this soulmate business was too damn good to be true, especially for him.

One minute left.

It was better if he didn't keep his hopes up.

Forty-five seconds left. He tried not to feel too hopeful.

Forty. But there are some emotions you can't ever control.

Thirty. He knew it was destined to fail.

Twenty. But he couldn't help but feel his heart race.

Ten. Would his soulmate accept him?

Nine. Would his soulmate accept his flaws?

Eight. What if his soulmate had a problem with Tony's career?

Seven. What if his soulmate didn't love him?

Six. Would anyone love him, ever?

Five. Would he die without ever knowing love?

Four. Was he destined to die alone?

Three. Why was he thinking about death when he was about to find out his soulmate?

Two. Would Tony love his soulmate?

Tony took a deep breath, closing his eyes and mentally preparing himself for the inevitable disaster.

One.

He looked at his arm and, for a second, stopped breathing.

In looping, fancy letters, decorating the middle of his fore-arm, was the words 'Captain America'. Just slightly below it, in a neat black font that reminded Tony of old-school typewriters, was the name 'Steven Grant Rogers'. On his wrist, perfectly situated on his vein in an ironic showcase of vulnerability, was the famous shield of Captain America.

Tony laughed.

He laughed and laughed and laughed until tears came streaming down his cheeks and suddenly he was sobbing, hard enough to make his entire body quiver.

His soulmate was dead. Had died years ago. And of fucking course, it was the one man who was his idol. The one man who managed to become the icon of all of America. The one man his father had constantly compared him to, making him simultaneously look up to him and admire him and love him and fucking hate him so damn much.

He wiped his tears away furiously, wondering vaguely why he was even surprised. It was just his luck. He should have seen it coming.

But it still hurt.

* * *

 

Many years later, Steve Rogers was revived from the ice.


	2. Prologue: Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's transition to the new world isn't as smooth as people assumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a lot of you wanted something more, so I added another prologue?? I'm pretty sure that wasn't what you guys were hoping for but I promise I'll be uploading a proper chapter soon! I'm having a minor Writer's Block (but then again, when am I not?) but I'll squeeze something out within the next couple of days. Til then, enjoy!

Steve stared at the screen lifelessly, his mind not processing the events currently gracing the television show, called Westenders or something similar.

The private quarters SHIELD had given him were small, with clinical white walls that reminded Steve of the cold, unattached attitudes of a hospital. The walls were white, the couch was black, there was a small tv and a window. A kitchen with a practically-empty fridge and other bare essentials. It felt empty. There was too much empty space and yet the walls still felt as though they were closing in on him. He felt suffocated.

He tugged the sleeve of his shirt further down his arm, but it was no use; the dark ink on his arm showed up darkly through the white material, the new letters too bold to be hidden by a mere white sleeve. He'd been trying not to think of it, tried to banish the implications from his mind, but it was all he could think about.

Bucky and Peggy weren't his soulmate anymore.

Strong-willed Bucky, always watching Steve's back, always protecting him without Steve ever asking, with his loud laugh and the way he was just so  _comfortable,_ always ready to 

Sweet, kind Peggy, with her sharp gaze that saw through everyone and her bright lipstick, who trusted him and cared about him and loved him and had his back when no one else did, who loved him for himself, who didn't have terrifyingly high expectations for him like everyone else seemed to.

Dead.

He sighed heavily, dropping his head in his hands.

For a second, he resented his new soulmate, before immediately feeling guilty. It wasn't his soulmate's fault that Peggy wasn't invincible. That was just life - people die and others have to move on. He repeated that to himself for a while, a mantra to keep him grounded, even if it was just for now.

Steve pulled up his sleeve for what felt like the billionth time, frowning at the pictures and words.

'Anthony Edward Stark', in thick, bold letters and just below it, 'Iron Man' written in a perfect circle that made Steve have to tilt his head to read it all. And just slightly above his wrist, a strange blue circle that looked like it was glowing.

Anthony Edward Stark. Steve mulled over the name, wondering if he was related to Howard Stark. Stark wasn't the rarest name ever, but there was a chance it was just a coincidence.

The name 'Iron Man' sounded familiar too. Steve was sure he hadn't heard the name pre-ice, but maybe it was mentioned in passing in one of the newspapers he read... He wasn't sure. He didn't know how he felt about having a famous soulmate - he'd read enough of the newspapers to know that the paparazzi were even more pressing and disrespectful than the ones he had to deal with during the war.

He lay down on the couch, closing his eyes and listening to the background sounds coming from the tv. He didn't have the heart to turn it off, terrified of the suffocating silence that was sure to follow if he did. And so, for now, he bared with the sounds of a mother screaming at her pregnant teenage child.

A soft knock at the door.

Steve sat up suddenly, staring suspiciously at the wall as though if he looked hard enough, he'd be able to see through the wall and see the person knocking at his door.

There was only one likely candidate to be at his door, and that was Nick Fury. But Steve had come to recognise Director Fury's sharp three rat-a-tat-tats. It was either the wind or someone else from Shield, on behalf of Director Fury.

Or someone with less well-meaning intentions.

Steve shook the thought from his mind. There was no war. There were no enemies. Only Shield knew he was out of the ice so far. At worst, it was a persistent salesman who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

He stood up, ignoring his pounding heart-beat and telling himself not to be so dramatic as he walked to the door. His hand hovered at the door handle longer than he would like to admit but, with a sharp intake of breath and the tensing of his muscles, he threw the door open.

And he blinked in surprise.

"Peggy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just to clarify a few things that will be coming up in the next couple of chapters: THIS FIC DOES NOT FOLLOW THE CANON TIME LINE. Tony, Bruce, Natasha, Thor, Clint, Pepper, Phil, etc all know each other, have met before and while they're not the best of bum-chums, they are pretty close and know quite a lot about each other. Steve comes a couple of years after all of them become majorly acquainted.


	3. Are You Fucking Kidding Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urrggghhh sorry it's so short =( Multi-chapter stuff are not my forte. I'll see when I can upload the next chapter but I've been working on it for a good hour now and I've got exactly 386 words (fuck you too, Writer's Block) so I don't know when that'll be. Who knows, maybe I'll get inspiration within the next couple of days. But don't hold your breath.
> 
> Not much happening here but next chapter, Tony meets Steve differently to the movie and sparks fly... but not the romantic kind.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Tony asked seriously, feeling his stomach drop. If this was a joke, it was a cruel one.

"I don't kid, Mr Stark," Fury said slowly, raising an eyebrow. "I understand that this may come as a shock to you, especially considering your circumstanc-"

" _May_ come as a shock?" Tony repeated, a harsh laugh ripping out of his throat. "No fucking kidding."

He knew that Fury knew who his soulmate - it was in his file and fuck if that didn't make Tony bitter, knowing that other people knew so much about him and, by default, his weaknesses.

Fury didn't fuck around. Tony doubted the guy even knew what a prank was he was so serious. This was the real deal.

He took a deep breath.

He wasn't going to panic. He  _couldn't_. He was Tony fucking Stark, goddamn it, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist and he wasn't going to go weak in the knees for anyone. It had taken years to harden his heart, to accept that he was never going to have a soulmate and move the fuck on, and now, when he had tentatively built the wall with precarious bricks, it was going to come tearing down again.

"So Captain America is alive? Right now?" he asked, forcing his voice to steady.

Fury gave him a knowing look that kinda made Tony want to punch him. Okay, no,  _really_ made him want to punch him.

"He's just regained consciousness," Fury confirmed. "Would you like to see him?"

"No thank you," Tony said immediately in clipped tones. Fury looked surprised, making Tony feel a little smug. Take that, fucker! "Is that all?" Fury hesitated then nodded.

Tony turned tail and left.

* * *

"Fuck," Tony swore, kicking the table and wincing when he realized, a little too late, that it was, um, a  _fucking solid that will hurt when kicked_.

Dummy whirred over immediately with a band-aid, chirping almost  _proudly_. Tony sighed as Dummy stuck the band-aid on top of Tony's shoe.

"Thanks, Dummy," he said nonetheless, patting the robot on the head. Dummy made a strange noise and whizzed away again, bashing almost immediately into a tabletop.

Tony sat down on the floor, burying his face in his hands, surrounded by his blueprints and all his different work.  _His_ work. He had finally gotten his shit together, sat down and fucking  _owned_ at not being a failure. Of all times Captain fucking America decided to wake up, why now? Now that he had just gotten used to life without him? Why not, oh, maybe a couple of years ago when he was fucking sobbing his heart out of the lack of Steven Grant Rogers?

He growled.

"Sir?"

Tony looked up. "Yeah, Jarvis?" he replied tiredly, rubbing his face.

"Natasha is currently outside the door and is requesting to come in," Jarvis informed him. "Would you like me to allow her access?"

"Uh, shit, one sec," Tony grunted, standing up and stretching. A satisfyingly-loud crack came from his shoulder. "Yeah, let her in."

He really needed something strong. Whisky. Scotch. Anything.

"Tony."

Tony looked up to see Natasha standing at the door, hands on her hips but her eyes softer than Tony had ever seen them. It was slightly worrying and Tony did not appreciate it.

"I don't appreciate that," he told her seriously as he rummaged through some draws to try and remember when he put his emergency scotch, goddammit.

Natasha just raised an eyebrow, not moving. "Don't appreciate what?"

"That look you're giving me," Tony said, waving his arms about in her general direction as though that would help get his point across better. "That 'poor Tony' look. That  _pity_ look. I'm really not appreciating it."

Natasha snorted. "Yeah, well, that's all my  _sympathy_ for you gone out of the window then."

"Pity, sympathy," Tony muttered, rolling his eyes. "Tomato, tomahto."

"It's really not the same thing, Tony," she pointed out and god, Tony kind of  _hated_ how soft her voice was right now but at the same time, it was soothing in a really weird way and yep, definitely  _not_ appreciating this sudden confrontation, especially not now that his head was hurting.

"Anyway, when are you going to meet him?"

"Who?" Tony asked as he rustled some papers in a futile attempt to look busy and hopefully distract Natasha from the conversation he knew was coming. But who was he kidding? Natasha was a damn assassin, she wasn't going to be distract with some  _paper_.

Sure enough, she didn't look impressed. "Steve frigging Rogers, is who. Don't act dumb." When he didn't say anything, she sighed and sat on the empty chair next to him. "He's your  _soulmate._ We're going to be working together. If you seriously think you can avoid him, then you've got another thing coming."

"And isn't that a fun bonding exercise for a soulmate?" Tony laughed, albeit slightly bitterly. "Killing supervillains, saving the world, constantly putting our lives on the line?"

"Ton-"

"Who knows, maybe they have couple discounts at the trauma therapists?"

"Anthony Edward Star-"

"And then we can go off into the sunset and get married and constantly worry about whether or not my partner is currently being held at knifepoint or being attacked by fucking psycho robots and-"

"Tony," Natasha snapped and Tony broke up, slumping in his seat and his head falling on the table painfully. He couldn't even manage to find the energy to say 'ow'.

"It'll be okay," she said, crossing her arms. "You're doing that thing again. Where you get all dramatic and exaggerate everything."

"I am, aren't I?" Tony agreed, his voice muffled by the table his face was currently implanted on. It was a surprisingly nice table, Tony thought to himself vaguely. Too nice to suffer the punishment of being Tony's workshop table. That was like asking to be blown up, to be honest.

"It'll be fine," she promised again. "After all, this isn't the worst circumstances for a soulmate ever, right?"

Tony remembered suddenly that Natasha had not one, but two soulmates whose entire career involved fighting people who were intent on eradicating the entire of humanity, and immediately felt kind of guilty.

"It'll be fine," he repeated. Natasha looked surprised. "I just have to ignore any feelings I might end up having, kill the supervillains, and then go back home. Right?"

Natasha looked unimpressed again.

"Get your shit together, Stark," she said sternly. "Stop thinking in worst case scenarios. There's a high chance of it working out."

Tony scowled at the wall. "Somehow, I doubt it."

Natasha looked at him for a moment before sighing. She rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly. Tony wasn't entirely sure if that was Natasha's way of comforting someone or if she was threatening him - you never knew with these unorthodoxly-trained assassins.

"Maybe you should go meet him now?" she suggested.

Tony gaped.

"It'll be good for you," she added. "Get it over and done with. Better to meet him now than when we're out on a mission, right?"

Tony looked at her like she had gone mad which, if he was honest, was completely warranted - did she not hear his plan of  _avoiding Captain America like the motherfucking plague_ or did she miss that part completely because this was going completely against his gut instinct.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"


	4. I Don't Want To Hear It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve's first meeting isn't what either of them hoped. Disappointment, hurt and unfounded accusations.

"Peggy?" he asked disbelievingly. The young lady raised a sharp eyebrow but with an amused smile.

"Not quite," she said in an almost apologetic tone and suddenly, Steve noticed the peeks of blonde hair from under the beanie, the significantly different make-up style, the jaw-line, the distinctly not-Peggy style of clothes - a light blue button up and black jeans.

Steve felt silly for a second. One of the first people he's seen since waking up and he immediately calls her Peggy.

"Peggy's my aunt," the woman offered, smiling slightly. Steve's eyes lit up.

"Really? Peggy Carter?" he asked excitedly. It seems as though there are more familiar people than he'd thought in the twenty-first century.

"That's the one," she nodded before holding out her hand confidently. "Sharon Carter."

"Steve Rogers," he said, taking her hand and shaking it. Sharon had a firm grip and already Steve had the feeling that she wasn't someone to mess with. He took careful note not to piss her off in the future - he could imagine her crushing him, serum or no serum.

"Can I come in?" she asked and Steve started, realising that he had been keeping her outside the entire time. He opened the door wider, ushering her in.

"You live here?" she said in disdain, wrinkling her nose up. "Wow, nice to know SHIELD treats you like the hero you are, eh?"

Steve shrugged, avoiding her gaze as he suddenly felt self-conscious of the lack of decor and the too-grey clinicalness of the room. The lack of personalisation was not surprising considering he'd been there for a grand total of a day and a half, but he suddenly wished he had at least gone out and bought a vase of flowers or something.

"I mean, it's not too bad, if a little dull," Steve defended as Sharon sat on the couch. "I've slept on worse surfaces."

Sharon sent him a fond smile. "Yeah, you would've," she agreed. "Still, it cant hurt have a bit of comfort." She ran her hand over the couch, her gaze wandering around the room. "You and Peggy were close, weren't you?"

Steve bit his lip as he felt his chest constrict. It was hard, knowing that Peggy was no longer here with him, by his side, knowing that Bucky had gone too, knowing he was alone, in a world that seemed bigger, stranger, scarier than what he had grown up with.

"Uh, yeah, we were," he confirmed with a small smile. "She was actually my soulmate, before I..." he trailed off, hit by a sudden pang of pain as all the things he missed out on with her hit him suddenly like a punch in the gut.

Sharon's eyes softened and she patted the space next to her on the couch. Steve gave a watery smile and moved to sit next to her. The couch was hard and solid and grounding, like Sharon's hand on his arm. He took a deep breath, willing himself not to cry in front of an almost complete stranger.

"It's okay to cry, you know," she said softly, her voice almost inaudible and immediately, the tears that Steve had tried so hard to hold back flowed freely down his face as he cried, and Sharon whispered stories of her aunt into his ear.

Steve stared at the picture in his hand. It showed an attractive-looking male, with dark hair, a wicked-looking smirk that was, if Steve was completely honest, kind of hot. In an objective way, of course. From an artist's perspective. Steve wouldn't mind drawing him at all.

So he would be working with Howard's son... Interesting. And apparently, Howard's son would be his... soulmate?

It was a lot to take in.

First of all, he felt a little paedo-ish. It was one thing having a soulmate from a completely different century, it was another thing to have a soulmate that was the son of someone he knew. He knew that, technically, it wasn't the same thing as paedophilia since Anthony, no  _Tony_ , as he was apparently called, was, in fact, a fully grown and responsible (and oh boy, would he take that back later on) adult, not some poor, innocent underaged kid being taken advantage of.

But still.

He sighed again - he'd been doing that a lot, lately. Sighing. He didn't tend to sigh much before the whole trapped-in-ice shebang, mostly because he didn't really face a lot of the emotions that came with it, more specifically, defeat. Even at his lowest times, even before the serum, even when he barely scraped by in concerns to food and rent, even when he was being beaten into oblivion by guys thrice the size of him, he'd never felt defeated. It just wasn't an emotion that registered with him.

But now, after all this shit being thrown at him, he found himself defeated. Like being in a long fight and despite having hope at the beginning, starting to see that it wasn't going to work.

He wondered where Tony was now. He knew he was a multi-billionaire philanthropist, constantly creating and updating new technology that just the name of brought Steve the beginning of a migraine. Maybe he was in his lab, concocting some strange-smelling potion thing. Maybe he was fighting someone, a  _villain_.

Maybe he was asleep in his room, alone and comfortable, face relaxed and all tension in his body gone. In every picture Steve had found of Tony in the newspapers Sharon had given him, he never seemed truly relaxed. He was always sitting up straight, shoulders back. His face either expressed scorn and distaste or wore a self-satisfied smirk. It was only natural that Steve wondered what he looked like asleep, with his hair down and his face open.

He still couldn't shake off the feeling of being a creep. Mentally shaking his head, he began to read one of the few articles of Tony that he hadn't yet read.

_'Anthony Edward Stark, more commonly known as Tony Stark, engineering genius and pioneer in the world of technology...'_

He liked the idea of that. His soulmate, going out and saving lives. It was nice. One of the things he'd begun to hate after the serum was people admiring him, looking at him with sparkling eyes and such awe that he felt a need to fulfil their unspoken expectations of him. He hated people seeing Captain America, but never seeing Steve Rogers.

But surely, Tony would know about that, wouldn't he? He'd know what it was like to be seen simply as Iron Man, but not known for himself. He'd have an idea, surely. And as he read through an article, he wondered what it would be like to know every little thing about this man, know how he liked his tea or if he snored in his sleep and what his favourite pizza was. He wondered what it would be like to love him, to make love to him, to wake up by his side every morning, to-

Steve shook his head. Those were dangerous thoughts. He wouldn't be surprised if Tony rejected him as a mate - in many of the articles, he was mentioned as a playboy and he had seen more than a few pictures capturing him with a pretty woman in his arms. And who would want a soulmate who was practically as big an icon as themselves? It was like asking for the press to air their entire relationship for the world to see. Paparazzi back in Steve's time had been bad enough but from all the dirty secrets revealed in the newpapers about other celebrities, he had a feeling twenty-first century ones were worse.

Another sigh escaped his lips and he studied the picture further. It was a shame, really; it had only taken a few newspapers to show that Tony was not only beautiful, but sassy, strong and proud, scarily similar to his previous soulmates, Bucky and Peggy.

But he would be meeting him soon, and so Steve put the matter out of his mind. Either Tony would accept him or he wouldn't - dwelling on it would make no difference.

Meanwhile, maybe he could make use of the punching bags SHIELD had provided him in the gym.

Several hours later, Steve was sitting on the floor of the gym, staring at the wall blankly. The serum meant that he couldn't tire himself easily, but he was mentally exhausted after every thought, every doubt, every fear he had been too afraid to dwell on came to the surface, each punctuated by a particularly hard punch.

But now, his mind was blissfully empty, thinking of nothing and staring at the teal walls as though someone was going to test him on it.

The gym door opened and it took a moment for Steve to rip his gaze from the wall to see who had entered.

A woman, with striking red hair and an even more striking gaze, walked in, raising an eyebrow and nodding at Steve but doing no more to acknowledge him. Steve nodded, even though she had already turned her back to him to fiddle with something in her bag. Steve went back to staring at the wall.

"You're Captain America, right?" the woman said, still not looking at him. Steve looked at her, surprised.

"Um," he started uncertainly, unsure as to whether he was allowed to tell her. "Yeah, I am."

She turned to face him finally, a small but dangerous smirk dancing on her lips. Steve found his breath taken away but it was more out of fear than anything. She looked like she knew a billion ways to brutally murder a person and would enjoy demonstrating each and every one.

"I've heard a lot about you," she said casually and she moved to lean against the wall, sharp eyes assessing Steve carefully as though any tiny mistake could make him fail this sudden test of sorts.

"Yeah, well," Steve mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm not exactly sure how much of it was fabricated by time, but thanks?"

She stares, not blinking, until Steve shifts uncomfortably. He's not sure if he's failed or not, and this sudden examination makes him want to get up and start punching the bag again, even if it's just so he doesn't have to meet her all-knowing gaze.

After a moment, she gives him a small smile, and Steve knows he has passed.

What he had passed, he wasn't sure exactly, but hey, Steve was never too fond of falling short of people's (high) expectations of him and he wasn't about to make it a habit now.

There's a moment of silence. Steve thought she's going to leave him alone now, because she had pulled out a phone and she tap-tapping away on it quietly. But then she suddenly spoke again, making him jump.

"My name's Natasha Romanoff," she offered, still tapping at the screen in front of her. Steve nodded, licking his dry lips.

"Steve Rogers," he replied, and she smirked again.

"I know," she said pointedly. "We just had the whole Captain America conversation, remember?"

Steve laughed sheepishly and suddenly, just like that, he thought he might just have made a new friend.

He got up, returning to the punching bag, going all out to release some of the tension that had begun to build up again in Natasha's silence, when he'd began pondering over the doubts again. He kept going - left hook, right hook, uppercut left hook, jab, left hook, right hook, uppercut, right hook, jab, until he's sweating again, panting slightly.

After a moment, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder lightly and he turned to see Natasha stand there, with an impassive expression on her face and a bottle of water in her hand. Steve wasn't particularly tired, but he accepted the bottle anyway.

"You've got quite the mean right hook," she said and Steve, guessing that she wasn't one to give compliments on a regular basis, accepted it gratefully.

"Thanks," he grinned as he unscrewed the bottle. She watched as he downed the bottle in several large gulps. Natasha raised a single eyebrow.

"Your soulmate is Tony Stark, right?" she asked.

Steve choked.

"Sorry," he said immediately, more than slightly mortified as he placed the bottle down. He could feel himself going red. "I -wait, um, how many, how do you,  _what_?"

Natasha looked vaguely amused. "So I guess that means he is. I actually wasn't too sure, didn't have any concrete evidence. You know, before you choked at the mention of his name."

"I don't-" Steve started before realising he had nothing to say and closing his mouth again. Natasha was looking amused again and she glanced at his forearm, where very light markings could be seen under his thin, long-sleeved shirt, which he had worn  _exactly to avoid this kind of situation but guess that was fucking useless then._

"Can I see it?" she asked, her voice softer than before and Steve realised that she was actually giving him an option here, to refuse and say no, or to pull his sleeve up.

Steve bit his lip and decided,  _what the hell_. It wasn't something he could keep in the dark, though he wasn't yet sure why he felt the need to, and people were bound to find out anyway. He'd rather it get out from him than through rumors.

He pulled his sleeve up, showing the names and the strange circle, everything on his forearm that meant 'Tony Stark'.

Natasha looked pleased. "That's good," she said after a moment. Steve cocked his head, pulling his sleeve down once more.

"Why?" he asked and he could start to feel all the emotions the markings had brought up within the past couple of days swell up and come to the surface. "He probably doesn't even have me on his arm. I've seen photos of him going out with a different girl in his arms every day,  _that_ 's definitely not the behaviour of someone who has a soulmate. And even if he  _does_ have my markings on his arm, it's probably a platonic one. I've yet to see Tony bring a  _guy_ out to one of his stupid fancy dinners. He's probably homophobic or something." Steve's tone grew bitterer and bitterer as he spoke, knowing he was being unfair and childish and kind of inaccurate but unable to stop as the hurt just grew and grew.

"Excuse me?" a voice said. Steve turned around to see a dark-haired male, hair defying the laws of gravity and neatly cut facial hair, even more handsome in real life, shorter than Steve expected and wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants rather than the suits Steve had grown accustomed but still, undoubtedly, Tony Stark.

Natasha sighed. "What did you hear, Tony? Because the ending sounds bad when not in context with the rest."

"I don't need context," Tony said coldly and oh, Steve had just met his soulmates and  _he'd already managed to piss him off_. "So I'm homophobic, eh?"

Steve grimaced. "Sorry, I didn't mean that, I was just-"

"You accuse me of homophobia without even knowing me and you try and tell me you  _didn't mean it_?" Tony said c. redulously, followed by a high laugh. "Wow, who would have thought? The perfect soldier, the country's icon, the great Captain America, accuses people he doesn't know of things he has no idea about!"

Steve winced because that _hurt. "_ First of all, I'm not perfect, and second-"

"Oh,  _that_ 's what you focus on?"

"Can you just listen?" Steve begged, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. He had planned out how he was going to meet Tony for hours at a time, and this was definitely not going how he wanted it to. "I'm not perfect, I make mistakes, I say horrible stuff that I don't mean when I feel hurt, and I'm sorry, it was unfair and probably untrue-"

"'Probably'," Tony mocked in a high voice, eyes glinting dangerously.

"No, wait, I-"

"Save it, Capsicle," Tony said, raising an eyebrow. "I don't want to hear it."

Tony walked out of the room, and Steve's heart stopped beating for a long moment.


	5. A Pep Talk From An Assassin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha talks to Tony and he makes a promise that he doesn't actually plan on seeing through, until Steve appears at the workshop and fucks up that plan.

Tony threw a screwdriver on the floor with a frustrated huff. Dummy whirred over immediately, picking it up and holding it out to him in a similar manner to a dog who had just caught a stick and was returning it to it's owner. 

Tony took the screwdriver again with a faint smile, patting Dummy on the head lightly before turning back to glare at the workshop table as though it had personally offended him.

"I'm not perfect," he mimicked in a high voice, pulling a blueprint closer to him and looking at it without a single word being processed in his brain. "He's probably homophobic."

He scowled. He knew he was being immature and more than slightly dramatic. But despite how much he had tried not to get his hopes up, Tony had kind of expected Steve to be perfect, to be immaculate, to be everything that Tony wasn't, and that he'd take one look at Tony and fix him up, somehow. It was unrealistic and probably unfair, but he after so many years of Howard influencing his view of Captain America, he had expected him to be the solution to every problem, including Tony.

He stabbed the blueprint with the screwdriver, twisting it relentlessly until he wondered if he had indented the table.

Fuck Steve. Fuck the whole Captain America bullshit. Fuck whoever decided to create this stupid soulmates idea. Fuck tall, blonde, gorgeous guys with fit bodies and too tight shirts and bright blue eyes and-

"Sir, Agent Romanoff is requesting entry," Jarvis interrupted his internal monologue. "Shall I allow her in?"

Tony considered the pros and cons of not letting Natasha in when she asked and decided that, frankly, he had enough bullshit and pain to deal with without adding an angry Russian assassin to the list.

"Yeah, let her in. And don't call her Agent Romanoff, it sounds weird," he said, picking the screwdriver up and twirling it in his fingers. The cool gesture lasted for a grand total of six seconds before it fell and landed on his toe, thankfully, handle down. "Ow."

"What would you prefer me to refer to her as?" Jarvis asked calmly, like Tony wasn't hopping up and down on one foot in pain. The workshop door opened to reveal one of the scariest people Tony had ever had the, um, pleasure of meeting, arm crossed and face unimpressed.

"Natasha," he said, half to Jarvis and half to the woman in front of him. 

"I shall note that down, sir," Jarvis said in the background but Tony wasn't listening because Natasha had walked right up to him, grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled. 

"Oww!" Tony howled. Natasha didn't relent her grip but twisted his face so that she could glare at him.

"You're being ridiculous, you know that?" she said flatly. Tony tried to scowl but his facial expressions were too busy grimacing. 'Multi-tasking was Pep's forte, anyway,' Tony thought to himself anyway, and gave up trying not to look like he was in pain.

When Tony didn't reply, Natasha let go with a sigh. Tony straightened up, running a hand through his hair and glaring at Natasha. She didn't react - but then again, what did he expect?

"You're being over-dramatic. One small misunderstanding and you've decided you're never going to even look Steve in the eye any more, let alone willingly become his soulmate."

"I didn't say that," Tony protested as he put the screwdriver down before he injured someone - hurting himself was one thing, but dropping a screwdriver on Natasha's foot was a free one-way ticket to local cemetery.

"But you were thinking it, weren't you?" Natasha asked, a single eyebrow raised.

Tony opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

Natasha sighed again, looking vaguely annoyed. "Okay, when you look at Steve, do you find him attractive?"

Hold up. What? 

"Nat," Tony said suspiciously, eyes narrowed as he stared at the completely serious woman in front of him. "Are you... helping me?"

"If that's what it takes to get your head of your ass?" Natasha said flatly. "Then so be it. And don't avoid my question. Do you think he's attractive?"

And boy, was that a difficult question to answer. Sure, Tony liked Steve's looks. After all, Mr Blonde-Buff-And-Gorgeous wasn't unattractive. Far from it, in fact. So yeah, Tony was willing to admit that he was attractive physically, but would he date him? Love him? Dedicate the rest of his fucking life to him?

Tony shuddered at the last one. Dedicating an entire lifetime to someone was a bit much, even if they were your soulmate.

"He's not ugly," he said carefully. "But hey, looks aren't everything, right?" Natasha gave him a wry look that told him exactly what she was thinking: 'And since when did you look beyond looks?' A valid point, if he was going to be honest. "I mean, look at me. Even with all this fancy art of my walls, I'm still the best-looking thing in Stark Tower, and I'm an asshole," he added.

Natasha actually raised a hand to cover her face in. Considering she was Natasha frigging Romanoff and excelled in remaining calm and cool in pretty much all situations, Tony considered that an achievement.

"You're hopeless," she said finally. "Look, I've spoken to Steve for only a couple of minutes and he is, so far, the sweetest sweetheart of all sweethearts, and I'm not even exaggerating. He's seriously just nice, for the sake of being nice. He's the help-old-ladies-cross-the-road kind of guy. He's the bring-home-to-your-parents kind of guy. He's the treat-you-like-you-mean-the-world-to-him kind of guy. He is, most likely, the most genuine and sincere person I have met in my decades of existence. And he's also in a completely different time, the world has moved on without him, he appears to be grieving, he's lost, he's scared. The least you could do is give him a chance."

Tony blinked. Natasha's hands were resting on her hips and she seemed taller, practically towering over Tony even though he was distinctly taller and woah, how did that even happen? 

He sucked in a breath. "Why are you everywhere? This is a big tower, I should not be seeing you everywhere. Where is everyone?"

Natasha pursued her lips at the obvious change of topic. Tony wasn't particularly surprised; he had been as subtle as a butt-naked Captain America riding a unicorn down a rainbow and scattering foundation powder on everyone below him, so Tony couldn’t exactly blame her. Not that he had expected to best Black Widow of all people at mind games.

Luckily, Natasha was, apparently, feeling merciful, because she didn’t comment but answered in the most deadpan tone she could muster. “Clint and Phil left yesterday on a ‘romantic’ road trip, Thor has gone to the animal shelter and hasn’t returned all day and Bruce left for a conference in Tokyo.”

“Bruce went to a conference without telling me?” Tony said immediately, mock-wounded as he clutched at his chest dramatically. Hopefully, enough threatrics would make Nat forget about the original topic. Unlikely, but worth a try. “I thought he loved me!”

“He told you. You blinked and went to the coffee machine,” Natasha said but her sharp glare told Tony that, nope, she had not forgotten, not one bit.

“Ah, before my morning coffee then,” he mused. He opened his mouth to add something else but Natasha cut him off sharply.   
"Look, you're really shit at subtlety, you're really shit at changing subjects and doing them both at once? Really isn't working for you, Stark."

Tony grimaced. "I tried?"

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, look, talk to him. He's really upset, he definitely didn't mean what he said and he's bitter because, well..."

She hesitated and Tony knew she was acting because Natasha was too good a spy to hesitate in her speech and Natasha knew he knew she was acting but she also knew that Tony was curious enough that he was going to take the damn bait anyway.

"Because what?" he said, trying to keep his voice flat. What the hell could get probably the most beloved person in America to feel bitter? 

Natasha stared him right in the eye - which was more terrifying than it sounded - and Tony knew she wasn't lying when she said, calmly and clearly, “He’s bitter because he thought he found true love and all that bullshit, but his soulmate consistently avoids him even when they’re under the same roof.”

Tony sucked in a breath. Well, damn. When put that way, it did sound a little asshole-ish. Steve had no idea why Tony was so against suddenly meeting his soulmate and yeah, Tony would be pretty damn upset too if his soulmate purposely went out of his way to ignore him.

Natasha looked at Tony expectantly. 

“It’s a large roof?” he tried. When she continued to look at him, he added, if reluctantly. “I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

Natasha nodded. “You’ve got a soulmate, Tony,” she reminded him, like he’d forgotten. “Don’t let him slip away.”

“Um, is there a reason why talking about him like he’s some sort of fish I’m trying to catch?” 

“Tony.”

“Okay, okay, yeah, I won’t let him slip or whatever. Happy?”

Natasha allowed a small smile and patted his cheek. “Don’t fuck this up,” she said finally, before walking out of the workshop. 

Tony grumbled. Stupid soulmates and stupid emotions and stupidly terrifying assassins...

He continued with his work, tinkering and modifying the shooting efficiency of the suit until he lost all sense of time. Absorbed in his work, it was several hours later when JARVIS made a slightly peculiar and vaguely annoying announcement.

"Sir, Steve Rogers is requesting entry."

Tony threw his hands up in frustration, throwing a stack of paper across the floor in his irritated state. "OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"


End file.
